The Cactus Stands Alone

Chapter 1

I am a cactus and I hate you.

Before you get all high and mighty on me about hate being a strong word, I must remind you of your propensity to even understand what it's like to be a cactus.

I'm green and my pores are filled with the spiked blades of fury, of which I have no control. They grow out of me without any heed to those they may harm, which forces other to concede I am a vengeful creature.

My insides are filled with the moisture I can muster from the hot desert ground. Do you even know what it's like to grow up in the desert?

Some of you may throw it my way about the swarms of creatures and humans who found themselves at the mercy of the hot desert sun. They only understand its brief stinging rays, which are enough to make any brave person swelter and sweat before they find relief.

I, however, must stand still while the heat bears down on me and endure it as if it's my only station in life. How much would I give to make my way towards an oasis and lounge among its shady ponds while sipping the finest waters this world can muster.

It's also lonely.

Very... very... lonely.

Can you understand why I hate you now?

You have a choice in the matter, whereas I'm dealt with these awful thoughts out here in the scorching blazes of the sun. The only bearable matter of this whole ordeal is my ability to move along the sand.

While this may strike some as odd, or perhaps even the work of some otherworldly necromatic spell, it's just the way things are here in Wonderland. Ahhh... the name strikes a bell. Perhaps you've heard of it?

There's a famous tale of a certain young girl who found her way here, twice I might add, to "save the kingdom" from the Queen and defeat her Jabberwocky, only to disappear as quickly as she came. While they may celebrate her as a hero and champion for all of us sentient creatures, I assure you, she left a mess.

Her only discourse for which to find her way around came through the mad gabs of the hatted man who is nonsensical at best and self-serving when honest. She had play dates with the cute creatures and was even invited to an unbirthday celebration — something only the most privileged of us get to experience. Then she stumbles upon a solution seemingly out of thin-air to put an end to the Queen's plans without realizing the turmoil she left the rest of us in.

What are we to do with our freedom?

With stories of redemption spoken everywhere from the annoying cat who disappears out of convenience to the door handles of cottages. All those voices are heard, questioned and responded to without exception. All the creatures of the land are part of the conversation. Every one but me.

While the magic of the land has enabled me to move through the fibers of dust that have been heated to beyond bearable temperatures, I have no mouth. I cannot speak. No one can hear the cries of the lonely cactus.

How I yearn to take part of the discourse on civil matters where I can pitch for a holiday from the desert heat and be carried to the shores of the oceans.

How great would it be to speak philosophical tongues among the wisest of the owls who speak to each other in riddles at night?

How amazing would it be to tell the crows above how unwanted and unloved they truly are in the world?

This world has gifted me with thought, feelings and self-awareness, but it has not allowed me to communicate.

I am a cactus and I hate you.